brew

there is a tempest brewing
not in a teapot gentle drifting steam a comforting mix
perhaps the first taste the bite of heat but warmth of
green
black
pu-erh
kukicha
jasmine
gyokuro with its accompanying ceremony

there is a tempest brewing in stormy dark waters
definitely not tea waters perhaps salt waters proper only for fishing
and sailing and exploring
and dying
the tempest is in her head
this wind a gale on salt waves no shore in sight a wind with a voice
of treachery and pain
and death

it says
her life is worthless
her children can live without her
there is nothing here for her
she may cry all she wishes

then the storm breaks across the waters and she hears and sees no more
except roaring in her ears stinging in her eyes

a crack of thunder a flash of lightning
straight through her heart
and the tempest surges through as it breaks open

she sinks and chokes and wonders
if death by drowning is really as peaceful as they say and
if someone can save her

if she stretches out her hand for help
will a shark will bite it off or
will another hand hold on tight

Jeanne Moses  2008

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